


The Mandalucarian

by Rabbit (Majorminor2242)



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), BAMF Lucario, Learning the Force (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian Lucario, The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majorminor2242/pseuds/Rabbit
Summary: Found at a young age, he was brought up as one of their own -in a small clan of bounty hunters that only represented a hollow shell of their former might.Their contracts were their pride; their guns were their religion, but most importantly, their armour was their purpose.That was the lore of the Madalorians.But what happens, when a highly trained, highly lethal and usually-stoic Bounty Hunter meets an infant being hunted by the scattered remnants of the Imperial Empire for having powers that seem almost imaginary?What else happens when that same infant then enlightens him to a power he wasn't aware lay dormant deep within him...?The Force is a tricky subject, confusing to comprehend and difficult to master. The last of the Jedi and Sith fell many years ago- forgotten by most of the cosmos and chalked up to 'legend' and 'myth'. The knowledge and truth has all but blown away with the ashes of the Last Jedi...However, not everyone in the universe has forgotten the Force. Powers are once again rising in the dark shadows of the Empire, and very suddenly, this Bounty Hunter has found himself tasked with the seemingly impossible mission of getting this infant home...
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. The Bounty Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So my goal with this story was to practically reverse-engineer 'The Mandalorian' as best I could to practice my skills of writing. I want to achieve the same effect through my own writing, as what's portrayed through the brilliant directing of the show. I also decided to take a big spin on it though (for my own entertainment), to which I hope you all enjoy :3
> 
> -Because a Lucario in ANY universe is awesome ;) -

The harsh chill of brisk snow bit into the plates of his armour like the fangs of a vicious predator, the thin cloth strung between the joints and the plates faring no better as he lifted up a blinking device. It radiated a red glow that pulsed, the beep emanating from it growing in speed gradually as he approached his target.

Currently, it indicated that he was only half a mile off still, and a bit further ahead in the icy terrain, a small encampment was spotted.

* * *

Sounds of freelance men could be heard from within; the usual comments and attitudes you'd expect to find at a bar in the middle of nowhere -the trouble maker; the guy-who-doesn't-want-trouble and even the blind-eye bartender.

A humanoid creature with gills and blue skin found his head being slammed down harshly into a table below as several men leered at him.

"Look at his glands!" one chuckled, "-these could sell for a fortune at the port!"

A knife was brought out, the blade slithering forward like a venomous snake, eager to _bite_ into the poor man's neck. "Please, please- I have credits! T-take them!" he threw what little change he had onto the table, but the light clatters did nothing to persuade the men as they seemingly continued their conversation un-interrupted.

"-He's young, too..."

The two less-than-savoury men pulled the poor anthropoid fish upright, the table shaking once more and spilling the few drinks it had held up, when suddenly, the front entrance to the bar opened, the spherical plates sliding smoothly to the edges as a blinding haze from the wintery conditions beyond encroached on the warmth that had built up in the tavern.

A single creature stood there; at first glance a man, but very quickly defined by the large, pointed ears on its fully encompassing, chrome helmet and the slightly strange proportions of its body. Looking at it as a whole, you'd realise that despite wearing a complete set of armour and looking very humanoid in essence, each of its body parts was slightly out. The legs were a bit longer than the torso -which was slightly thin around all sides and not quite as broad as a human's would be. The armour around their upper thighs was thick and shaped a bit more rectangularly than the half beneath the knee joint, and its limbs were all thin but showed a strange hidden strength beneath them. There was also a chrome-silver spike that protruded from its chest, nestled between its armour breastplate, as well as two spikes on the backs of both of its hands, of which had only three dexterous nubs instead of a human's usual five, further pronouncing its differences.

Overall, it was only four feet tall yet indefinitely felt more imposing and intimidating than most men you'd come across, and had very animalistic looks about it, both in its armour's design (of which the helmet looked like the narrow muzzle of a canine with a 'T' shaped visor, as well as its posture. A black cape hung from its shoulders, and a blaster at its right thigh, as they stood there for a second, eyeing the taverns tense occupants, before strolling in and towards the bar silently.

The man who had previously been holding his knife to his victim narrowed his eyes threateningly towards the newcomer, _"You spilled my drink..."_

Entirely ignored without even the lowliest of glances, the armoured veteran leant onto the bar and placed down a single coin, the bartender already rushing to serve him his drink before shit could truly hit the fan between his 'patrons'.

"Hey, _asshole!"_ _the man spoke in a language that was pretty uncommon across this part of the quadrant;_ the mysterious ranger thought as he sighed upon hearing the inevitable footsteps that encroached him from behind. "I said, you spilled, my drink..."

The bartender, now realising that the fight was coming closer to his spot, glanced at the ranger, expecting that he couldn't understand the language and therefor repeating the man's words in English. "He says _'you spilled his drink.'_ ..."

In the back, the blue-gilled male was dropped unceremoniously to the table as the two other lackeys approached the stranger, circling him alongside their 'leader'.

"Is that real Beskar mettle...?" one shoved at his back as another scratched their knife on his armour, not leaving even the tiniest of dents in it.

The silence was as tense as the strength of which the drunk man gripped the shoulder plate on the stranger's shoulder, however that was as far as he got before the light left his eyes in a single flash of red; a blaster hole eating away at a hole in his chest as he collapsed to the ground, followed by his lackeys who couldn't keep up with the swift movements of the ranger. The first went down as he grappled his body and slammed his face down unforgivingly on the bar's counter, but the second, a titanic bruiser in comparison with tentacle-like appendages on his face, took a broken arm and several point-blank hits to the face, followed by a twisted knife into his own back before he collapsed with a heavy *thump* on the cold, hard floor.

The stranger wiped the green blood off his knuckled glove, before turning to face the blue-gilled male from before who had already began shifting towards him. He held relief in his face as though he'd been blessed by divine intervention, smiling. "Thank you- thank you very much...!" the action of him slipping the credits he'd previously thrown on the table beneath his clasped hands didn't go unnoticed, "You have my heartfelt gratitude!" Eventually his confident smile faltered under the piercingly stoic gaze of the stranger's helmet and he caved, "Y-you know what? Here, take my credits! You earned them. Buy yourself a drink-" he was interrupted by a small, silicon disk hitting the table, followed by a luminous, holographic projection of his own face appearing with the words **'WANTED'** hovering above in a common draxian language.

"Uhhh... hehehe... t-there must be some kinda mistake-"

The clear but gruff tone that emanated from the helmet was initially shocking -the first words that the stranger had spoken yet: "I can bring you in warm, _or I can bring you in cold..."_ he stated simply as his hand lightly brushed his blaster, the other's face lighting up in consternation.

* * *

"L-look... surely there's some amount of credits I can pay you? How much are you getting?" the two of them traversed the frozen ice of a glacial ocean, thick cuffs clasping the wrists of the captive as they approached the only ship in the surrounding tundra. It was an old model, a _Razorcrest_ -one of the personal carriers used by the rebel forces in their early days of fighting the Imperial forces. Despite its age, the ship reflected a glossy silver much like the bounty-hunter's helmet -but not quite as pristinely, and regardless of what you may think, _this ship could fly._

Opening a hatch, the blue man was shoved inside just as the ice beneath their feet splintered and cracked, and seconds after jumping in himself, a massive beast that looked like a walrus but ten times more mutated leapt up out of the frigid depths below and clasped its jaws around one of the ship's legs, stopping it from taking off.

"OH GOD-!" the captive man shifted away from the edge as he witnessed the monster dig its teeth into thick metal, and knowing that the ship wouldn't be able to take off until it let go, the bounty hunter grunted as he picked up a weapon he'd left behind in the cockpit and leaned over the edge. A gun with a duel-pronged tip reached the skin of the creature as it screeched, fifty thousand volts arcing across its skin as an electric blue as it released the ship and they began ascending, the hatch finally closing and the man on the floor breathing a sigh of relief.

"Jeez, I really wasn't prepared for that, you know?! I t-think I need to use the vac-tube if it's all the same to you..."

The bounty hunter simply pressed a button, the door behind him opening with a hiss without even glancing back.

"T-thanks, I'll only be a minute I'm sure!" the man fled out the door as calmly as he could act, sliding down a set of ladders and calling out "Ah-ha! Found it! J-just give me a minute!"

Sliding past the lavatory, his eyes narrowed as he glanced around below deck. Spotting a weapons locker, he brought his locked hands to the code panel but kept speaking convincingly, "So is it really true that you guys never take off your helmets...?"

There was no response, just like before but the man continued as he searched around further, gaining confidence. "Yeah, I was hoping to free for uh, a nice t-time back home..." he paused, almost choking on his breath when he came across a life-sized creature that had been encased in carbonite. He felt nausea build up in his stomach as he took another step, seeing another man hung up like a suit on a hangar and realising his own fate was likely to follow theirs by the hands of this bounty hunter. "I was... really hoping... to get home to my family..." Gradually, his previously loud voice fell to a hushed whisper, his confident posture falling as he came to a conclusion. _"B-but I guess that's not going to happen this year..."_

 _"Probably not..."_ a presence by his side made him aware to his captor, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, before everything went dark. A single chop to the neck knocking him out cold as he was thrown upright into the carbonite-encasing machine.

As the steam cleared with a hiss, the neutral expression shone out, fitting ironically amongst the anger, confusion and terror dawning across the other faces as they recognised their own fates much as he had -only _they_ had been conscious.

* * *

The ship settled upon the jagged land of a rocky planet, just outside a large settlement. The process of transferring the wanted bounties to the hiring organisations and shady men was quick and simple -as it usually was in the black market, and soon enough, the bounty hunter found himself strolling into another bar; this one far more familiar to him as all the patrons settled into hushed noise, before eventually picking it up once more, the sound of countless different species all speaking different languages from across the universe hitting his adept ears; all aimed at him.

He walked rigidly towards one particular table that a single man sat at, still silent but posture asking if it was alright to sit.

"Go right ahead, Mandalorian. I heard that you're trade went off without a hitch? Congrats-" the man placed down four rectangular credits to match the inactive tracker devices the hunter was already brandishing.

"Those are Imperial credits." he spoke blandly as the smiling man bristled.

"They still spend."

"I don't know if you heard, but the Empire is gone."

"It's all I've got-" with a head-roll, the hunter retracted the tracker tags, only to be stopped.

"-Save the theatrics!" he huffed in irritation. "Fine. I can do Calamari Flan, but I can _only_ pay _half."_ the man produced four spherical coins that glowed an ethereal blue/white. They were cheap change compared the Imperial ingots but the hunter placed the four tracker chips back down with a *clang* before sliding the credits his way (leaving the Imperial ones).

"Fine..."

"Now, I suppose you're looking for another job. Hm, I have a bailed jumper," he gently slammed a silicon disk onto the table with a rattle, followed by several more, "-a bailed jumper, a bailed jumper, _another_ bailed jumper, and a smuggler-"

"I'll take them all-"

"Now hold on..." the man covered the disks as he reached for them. "There _are_ other members of the guild, and sadly, these are all I've got right now."

"Why so slow?"

"It's not slow at all, actually. We're actually very busy; they just don't want to pay _guild rates."_ the comment was very directed towards the hunter, known for his high prices for any job. "-the clients don't mind if they're a little sloppy..."

The hunter gave out a breathless sigh before continuing with this verbal bartering. "What's your highest bounty?"

"...Not much. Five thousand?"

"That won't even cover fuel these days."

The man cleared his throat before leaning an inch forward. "Mm, _there is one job_..." upon hearing this, dozens of the other bounty hunters all around the bar raised their ears like wolves. That's the thing with bounty hunters: they could smell a good job from a mile away, so the moment they heard the big-shot getting the inside scoop, they all were attentive.

"Let's see the puck."

"No puck... Face-to-face. Direct commission. _Deep pocket."_ a specific glint filled the man's gaze.

 _"Underworld?"_ the question was light and whispered, as despite his stoic approach to business, even the hunter was mildly surprised by this -though even then it was pretty well concealed.

"All I know is _no chain code."_ he brandished a metal chip with an insignia on it. _"Do you want the chip or not?"_

It took a few moments of consideration, until with an outstretched arm, he firmly grabbed it before standing up and tying his weapon to his back. He left without another word, the dealer left with a small smirk behind him.

* * *

Navigating through the cluttered, rocky streets, alleys and paths, eventually, he came upon a rusted door. It seemed about as impervious as a bunker-shelter, and he raped his knuckled against it with a loud *clang- clang- clang-*. Out from a tiny hatch beside the door appeared a metallic eye which spoke garbled language and he held up the chip, allowing it to scan it before retreating into its hole.

The door opened with a hiss, compressed steam from its hydraulics indicating just how secure it was built, as he was led inside by a black, box-like droid. The door squealed as it slammed shut behind him but he hardly flinched as they continued forward. Looking around as he went, he was eventually led to another door, behind which appeared several storm troopers with battle-scarred suits of armour and compact blaster rifles in their hands. They all turned to face him tensely as they analysed him imposingly beneath their own helmets, before an old but strong voice broke the silence as he slowly stepped forward.

"Greef Karga said you were coming." the man had a slightly harsh accent, with grey hair and a proud, Imperial medal displayed on his chest.

"What else did he say?"

"He said you were the best in the parsec..." he spoke with a tense judgement, seemingly doubtful of those words until demonstrated why.

At that moment, a door to the right slid open and without hesitation, the hunter drew his blaster before the other troopers could even react, also managing to unclip his rifle from his back and duel-wield it at the same time they all lay their aim on him. He already had his shot signed up on the scientist that had appeared in the room, as well as one of the troopers.

"Lower your weapons." the old man stated quite bluntly as the man who had entered panicked, raising his hands and stuttering in fear.

"No-! No, no, no. Pardon. Uh, sorry. I-I'm not a threat! I... didn't mean to alarm..."

"This is Doctor _Pershing._ Please excuse his lack of decorum. His _enthusiasm_ outweighs his _discretion_." the man gave the most piercing glare through the most neutral look, before approaching the hunter. Please lower your blaster...-"

"Have them lower theirs first."

One stormtrooper -ironically the one he'd been tracking his gun at, spoke up, "We have you four to one."

"...I like those odds." the hunter gave a confident look towards him.

With a small twitch in his face, the old man decided to diffuse the situation. _"He also said you were expensive... Very expensive."_ he looked towards the troopers and gestured lightly for them to lower their guns, which they did warily. "Please sit."

Following suit, he slowly lowered his gun but kept it stiff on his lap as he lowered himself to a chair. With a dead-stare, the old man slowly unravelled a previously unnoticed cloth on the desk, revealing a single metal bar.

"Beskar?"

"Go ahead. It's real." The hunter slowly brought it to his fingertips, picking it up and inspecting the oily sheen and Imperial insignia inscripted on it. "This is only a down payment. I have a _camtono_ of Beskar waiting for you upon delivery of the asset..."

"Alive." the doctor interrupted from beside him, to which the man leant in his chair.

"Yes, _alive._ Although I acknowledge that bounty hunting is a complicated profession. This being the case, _proof of termination_ is also acceptable for a lower fee..."

"-That is not what we agreed upon-"

"I am simply being pragmatic."

"Let's see the puck."

"I'm afraid... discretion dictates a less traditional agreement. We can only offer you a tracking fob."

The hunter reserved its reaction. _"...What's the chain code?"_

"We can only provide the last four digits."

He stopped in the process of tapping info into his left arm's display. "Their _age_ is all you can give me...?"

"Yes. They're fifty years old. We can also give you last reported positional data." the man's eyes narrowed sharply. "Between that and the fob, _a **Mandalorian** of your skill should make short work of this..."_

Taking a deep breath, the hunter stood up, gripping the Beskar ingot in his hand, before turning away slowly. As though empty words could sweeten the deal to him, the man continued as he walked. "The Beskar belongs back into the hands of a _Mandalorian_. It is good to restore the natural order of things after a period of such... _disarray." -a_ brief jolt of fury griped the Mandalorian's body, clenching his muscles before he forced himself to relax. "Don't you agree?"

The hunter left without another word uttered.


	2. A Mandalorian's Pride.

Passing through another empty side street, the Mandalorian brushed aside a tarp that covered a less-than-known entrance leading to the cave system beneath the village. His boots clattered slightly as he passed down a dozen spiralling steps before coming to a hallway filled with many who all wore the same mask as he did. Each of them looked up at his return, many of them wore more Beskar plated armour than the lone helmet they were all given upon pledging themselves to _the way_. Some with chest plates that gleamed silver, others with a few shin-guards of shoulder-pads. He was ironically one of the few grown Mandalorians that had yet to earn his next piece, as this was his second time entering the forgery chamber in his life.

The first time; the time of his initiation flashed through his mind as he walked.

_A lone survivor of a devastating strike on a defenceless village on his home planet. The last of his people in the known quadrant, taken in by the mother of the Mandalorians and raised as one of their own._

Mandalorians weren't known to be anything if not both human and professional Bounty Hunters -the best in the many galaxies, mind you. In fact, he was the only one here who had anything remotely different in his features -which overall made him stand out as quite a bit of a freak. In a way, it was against their code for them to accept a bipedal, humanoid creature that had blue and black fur and spikes growing from its bones; less because the Mandalorians were speciest, but more because the designs of their armour was so revered that it changing the shape and structure of it was like pissing on their bible; a sin. Yet somehow, the Mother had seen something worthy in him. Something incredible enough to warp their own, worshiped designs to fit his ears and pointed muzzle. To not hinder his protruding chest-spike, nor his strangely shaped body.

Well... at least those last few would come in the future, however for now, he still donned the lone yet respectable helmet, the rest of his armour mismatched, some red and some discoloured but all of it scratched and dented; battle scarred -unlike his helmet.

He stoically entered the most respected room in the compound, removing his gun and placing it upon his lap as he kneeled respectably. the Mother, the current founder of a near-deistical line of Beskar armorers, approached and kneeled on the other side of the low table. The founders were the only Mandalorians who had ornamental helmets, however unlike his (which was customised but still just as plain as the others'), hers had decorative slits on the visor and had several small, protruding spikes on the top to signify her as the leader. She wore fur around the back of her shoulders and neck, but simple leather armour on the rest of her body. It symbolised that she, despite being a founder, had no right to capitalise on the Beskar metal more than the hunters. Her job was simply to forge their armour as it was earnt.

He placed the four Calamari Flan on the table, followed by the ingot. Crafting the armour was not a paid process, however the Founder Mother knew by silent agreement that the Mandalorian before her wanted to give his earnings to the young growing up around them.

Mandalorians were always raised from a young age, and more often than not had no parents nor guardians to speak of.

"This was gathered in the great purge." the woman spoke plainly as she inspected the insignia brandished on the metal. Her voice didn't hold contempt, but every Mandalorian felt beyond simple _resentment_ towards the Imperial forces for what they did in the past... "It is good it is back in the tribe."

"Yes."

"...A pauldron would be in order. Has your signet been revealed?"

"Not yet..."

 _"Soon."_ she then turned, standing up and making her way towards one side of the room where an intricate, fortified cabinet hissed open, revealing the many tools of worship within their 'religion'. She brought the ones she needed, then approaching the blue circle of plasmolised, laminar flames and getting to work. The mettle bubbled, slowly melting down to be re-shaped and re-forged, yet never glowed red like any mettle usually would under high-temperature. The Founder Mother then settled into a steady rhythm of pounding the near-impervious mettle until fit for a Mandalorian to wear.

It was obvious how much even such a small part's design was altered as she hammered it to place, and a small part of his heart felt warmth at how much the Founder Mother seemed to do for him. Where would he be without her guidance? _Where would he have ended up...?_

"This is generous. The excess will sponsor many foundlings..." she broke him from his thoughts, as she displayed how much mettle was left over after finishing, to which he grunted.

"That's good. _I was once a foundling..."_ the woman knew that that was where he'd want to send it anyway. He had always given lots to the younger generations.

 _"I know."_ she spoke reminiscently, and the flash of a burning village filled his mind as her hammer stuck the mettle in its final stages, images flittering through his head unwillingly yet unfiltered as he patiently waited for the final product.

"It is ready..." she approaching his side, still kneeling patiently at the table without having moved an inch. Slowly, the masterpiece was lifted up to his right shoulder, the previous plate disregarded, as it clicked into place magnetically.

* * *

The shoulder piece shone as beautifully as his helmet as he descended his ships steps. This time, instead of a frigid planet barren of land, he was standing on red sand in a light breeze that promised deadly storms at the worst of times. All in all, however, the tracker beeping in his paw was the same and nothing else changed.

Pulling off his scouter scope that he had attached as the sight on his larger gun, he raised it to his visor. Through it, the light was filtered a bland greyish-blue and the image was a little grainy, but he spotted one or two creatures roaming about. There wasn't any settlements in sight, however the reason he landed in such a desolate spot was because he knew the risks of getting all his stuff stolen by the main inhabitants of this planet.

Just as he lowered his scope, however, a beast ten times his weight came crashing into him, jaws clamping on his right arm just as he managed to spark up the build-in flamethrower as a response.

He was effortlessly lifted off the ground, before being swung ferociously from side-to-side as he yelled. He tried to pry his arm free, but realising that he was lucky enough that the thing's teeth weren't penetrating and deeper _through_ the armour yet, decided that it would be better to try to blind its senses, so he threw his left fist at the creature's eye relentlessly, but the thing held on. Now, it was really mad and the metal beneath its teeth screeched in protest, however he was unable to reach his blaster on his right thigh, and his main gun had been thrown back behind him by several feet from the first initial charge.

Raising its head, the beast slammed him into the dirt ground hard enough to create cracks, however before it could attempt the final strike, a dart pierced its side, emitting an small electrified shock strong enough to knock it out cold but weak enough to leave no lasting damage.

Heaving in relief, the Mandalorian looked towards his saviour, trying not to let his guard down as he pried his arm from the grip of its teeth. Someone short (rich coming from him), with a gun in hand and a lead leading to the mount he rode below, who had leathery orange skin that was wrinkled with age and a stylistically old pilot-cap and goggles that suited his grey, whispy mutton-chops. The hunter realised that the thing he was riding was identical to the one that had attacked him, but much more passive.

Despite his chest still heaving, his voice was as strained as his tone, which the other noted as strange. "Thank you."

"You are a bounty hunter." it came out as more of a passive statement than a question.

"Yes."

His saviour tilted his head briefly, eyes catching on the small tuft of blue fur sticking out of a cut in the sleeve of his armour -which he covered quickly. "I will help you..." he then ushered his mount to turn with nothing more said, before indicating towards the still panting Mandalorian to follow. "I have spoken."

* * *

Reaching the man's small encampment in the middle of nowhere, the two settled down within a tent. For once in his life, the bounty hunter realised that the height of the tent was about perfect for the both of them, but the same didn't seem to be what was on the other's mind.

"Many have passed through. They seek the same one as you."

"Did you help them?"

"Yes. _They died..."_

The man turned away to prepare a hot drink and the hunter gestured as though the response was stupid. "Then I don't know if I _want_ your help."

"You do. I can show you where you wish to go; better than any tacky radar could."

"What's your cut?"

"Half."

"Half the bounty to guide? Seems 'steep'." he retorted in a rare display of sarcasm as the other shook his head.

"No. Half of the two blurrg; one of which you helped capture."

"You mean that creature that almost killed me? You can keep them both."

"No. It is impossible to reach your destination without a blurrg mount."

"I don't know how to ride blurrg."

"I have spoken." the man gave a solid glare that seemed to solidify his statement with that as the two fell into a lapse of silence until eventually after finishing his drink, the man led the pair of them out to the pen besides his home.

* * *

For what may have been the _umpteenth time_ he crashed to the ground, grunting as he shook himself off and picked himself up again.

The unhelpful advice from the man continued, "Perhaps if you removed your helmet..."

 _"Perhaps_ if he remembers I tried to roast him..."

"This is a female. The males are all eaten during mating-"

"I don't have time for this-" He gave a pointed look towards the man with clear irritation, before preparing himself once more for the beast to charge him. It growled in deterrence, body language telling every instinct within him that he _shouldn't be standing there,_ but still the man badgered on about how 'prideful' his ancestors used to be. How they could 'tame beasts far larger than this one' and that 'the Mandalorians have fallen quite far if you are one to give up so easily'.

Growling at the prick to his pride, he shook his head before breaking into a nimble jog approaching the beast. The moment it leant forward to knock him down, he slid to its right fluidly, before griping its neck and launching himself up to rest atop of it, firmly gripping the bridle as it kicked and lashed in refusal.

For a while, he managed to hold on, however eventually he was thrown off once again, however this time just before hitting the dirt ground, he landed and rolled into a crouch, grunting.

"Look, I don't have time for this. Do you have a land speeder I can hire-"

"You are a _Mandalorian!_ Your ancestors rode the great Mythosaur!" the sharp tone of the man cut through his words like a blade as he stared into his visor as though he could see the hunter's true eyes. "If you are unable to tame this young blurrg, then you will never earn your armour..."

Something inside him twitched, and realising that the man was actually probably more right than he'd realised, he turned back towards the creature with a more determined attitude. He shook himself off before closing his eyes, and then calming his own movements, he slowly approached it with an outstretched hand, palm wide as he did.

Three steps, two steps. _One step._

It was actually quite shocking to feel the sudden, rough texture of the creature's chin, and as a matter of fact, it felt almost as though he had been in a complete daze as the events had occurred- as though he had been possessed. The blurb stared back at him as though it had seen into his soul, standing completely still as though it somehow came to a concrete conclusion that it was in no danger, before leaning down and allowing him to pull himself up onto its back.

"Now _that_ was much more like it!" the man congratulated, already picking up his sack of supplies for their journey and pulling himself onto the back of the other blurrg. "Well, I suppose it's time to be off."

But the Mandalorian never responded, too confused by the feeling that overcome his senses in that one moment of time. Something that felt so special, it was almost like he'd touched a metaphorical 'current' that flowed from another lifeform. Shaping it around his fingers as he felt an energy he'd not yet sensed before.

_Strange..._


End file.
